


when danger met desire

by Persephatta



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Romance, crime boss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29083524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephatta/pseuds/Persephatta
Summary: The Phantom sucks in a breath and releases it. "You recognise I am a monster."She opens her mouth but he holds up his hand and she miraculously remains silent."You know what I am capable of yet you ambush me here, in this dark forgotten crevice where no one will find us. If you scream, everyone is too far away to arrive in time, if they even bother."---In which, the Phantom is the most feared man in the criminal underworld and Meg might have bitten off more than she can chew.
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Meg Giry, Erik | Phantom of the Opera/Meg Giry
Comments: 26
Kudos: 26





	1. un

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, this is purely a work of fanfiction.

* * *

"They know you walk like you're a God,

They can't believe I made you weak"

_**Strange Love** _ **\- Halsey**

* * *

"Leave Christine alone."

The Phantom stills. He tilts his head as a woman slips from the shadows. She is dressed in a plain dance frock; blonde curls escape a messy bun. There is nowhere for her to hide a weapon unless she is concealing something in the folds of her tutu.

"And you are?"

He is used to people cowering under the force of his gaze but she lifts her chin, defiant. He could kill her for such insolence and might yet. However, there is something familiar about how she holds herself. As a regular at the Opéra Populaire he has no doubt seen her perform but his senses suggest there is something more.

"No one of importance."

She can hide her identity if she likes, it won't be difficult to discover, and then he can decide what to do with her.

"Yet you have the nerve to approach me and make demands."

_There_. The slightest bob of her throat. He tastes weakness like blood in the water.

"Christine is my friend. I won't let you harm her."

His hands tighten into fists at the insinuation but he doesn't let the anger translate to his face. "I do not intend Ms Daaé any harm. Although, if I did I fail to see how _you_ could stop me."

He stresses _you_ with a condescending look that shows how little he makes of her. The ballet rat straightens.

"Maybe not… which is why I'm here, appealing to your better nature."

He laughs, coldly. "My dear, do you even know who I am?"

"They call you _The Phantom_."

She doesn't sound scared but if she knows his name then she knows something of his reputation.

"You see, I am the bogeyman who lurks in the shadows, worse than all your nightmares put together. Whoever made you believe I have an ounce of kindness in me has grievously misled you."

"Antoinette Giry."

" _What?_ "

For the second time that night the Phantom is surprised.

"Antoinette Giry is the one who made me believe there was kindness within you. When she lost her dance career after the accident that paralysed her from the waist down your kindness saved her from becoming destitute. Now she serves as your accountant."

She is wrong. Yes, he helped Antoinette but he didn't do it out of the kindness of his black heart. He owed the ballerina a life debt and was merely paying it back. Embroiling her in a life of crime was hardly kindness although Antoinette has never complained. But how does this nobody know his history with Antoinette?

He trails his gaze over her once more and realisation strikes like a match.

"Marguerite Giry."

"I prefer Meg."

"And what does the Little Giry want with me? Does your mother know what you're up to?"

The answer is obvious; Antoinette would never allow her daughter near the Phantom. She keeps her daughter far from the business and for good reason, this frail mouse would be torn to shreds by the wolves he runs with - and he is the biggest, baddest wolf of them all.

The fact that she dare confront the Phantom - however intriguing - proves she is far too naive and headstrong for her own good. Her only advantage is she is Antoinette's daughter and he would never hurt the ex-ballerina. Not that he is going to let the chit know that.

"I want you to leave Christine alone."

This again.

He bares his teeth in a manner that resembles a smile but no one would mistake for one. "I believe that is Christine's decision."

"Then let her make it. She doesn't want you."

She might as well have slapped him. He is fast losing patience with this girl.

The Phantom stalks forward until his face is mere inches from her own. The foolish girl doesn't even flinch.

"You would be wise to keep your nose out of other people's business. My relationship with Ms Daaé is none of your concern."

"That's where you're wrong."

The Phantom snarls. No one would miss one bratty ballerina when there's a whole troop of them. Except she is Antoinette's daughter. _Damn._

"I make it my concern. Christine is my best friend and I don't want to see either of you hurt."

" _Either of us_ ," he scoffs. "Don't pretend you harbour any sympathy for me."

She looks up at him, blue eyes glittering beneath long eyelashes, her cheeks flushed from dance practice, lips plump and rosy. He falters, pulse stuttering. He hasn't been this close to a beautiful woman in a long time.

_Is_ Meg Giry beautiful? She is not _unpleasant_ \- though she doesn't compare to Christine. Besides, Antoinette would have his hide if she learnt he thought of her daughter in such terms.

"You think I'm too young but I remember when the bad men came. I remember how you made them go away."

Her voice startles him from his reverie but the earlier rage does not return. He listens as she speaks.

"I remember you setting us up in your own lodgings for a time, not long, just while you made alternative arrangements. You played the piano, late at night when I was supposed to be fast asleep, I would lie awake and listen to the music and it would sweep over me and send me to sleep. I never had bad dreams when you played."

Before, her voice had been firm and unyielding. Now she sounds breathless, her tone wondrous and intangible, like the stuff of clouds. His breath catches in his throat. She is looking at him as no one ever has… as if she sees all he is - the horrors and the broken shards - through to his withered husk of a soul, huddled in its dark corner. And yet instead of the revulsion he expects there is compassion.

But how can this bright-eyed ballerina know of the hell he lives in, of the sins he has committed. If she saw a fragment of the beast within, she would turn and flee before the monster devoured her too.

As if reading his thoughts, she speaks. "I may not know much about you - and I'm probably better off not knowing - but I don't think anyone who plays that beautifully could be a monster."

He almost laughs because anyone with enough talent and the correct score can play a pretty melody, monster or not. But he is unexpectedly touched by the sentiment and keeps his peace.

The dancer's eyes gleam as if she senses his wavering. He doesn't like how easily she reads him even with his mask in place. Having located the crack in his armour she doesn't hesitate to dig her nails in.

"Christine is in love with Raoul de Chagny."

The Phantom hisses and the Little Giry is actually taken aback. He delights in this small victory but then she smirks and any pleasure turns sour.

Noticing the shift, she bites back her grin and smooths her features into a neutral mask, but he feels the curve of her lips seared into him.

"Christine loves Raoul and Raoul loves Christine and they will happily continue to be obnoxiously in love except for the one admirer who refuses to take the hint and, of course, that admirer is the _frickin'_ Godfather."

She glares rather pointedly and the Phantom would be amused if her words didn't inflame him so.

"You dare criticise my treatment of Christine. I have given her more than she could dream."

The look she gives him is downright frosty and altogether too evocative of her mother.

"And her love is the price you demand, is that it?"

He recoils at the venom in her tongue and like a snake she strikes.

"Christine didn't ask you to make her a star. You saw her talent and cultivated it for your own satisfaction. She didn't know who you were. She thought your intentions benevolent. She made a deal with the devil and believed him an angel."

"She understood it was a transaction." He is surprised he manages to keep his voice level with the blood pounding through his ears.

"A _transaction_ , what a cold term for love. It's not Christine's fault you confused business with pleasure."

"I am owed- "

"Don't act as if Christine's rising stardom hasn't been mutually beneficial. You own the Opéra Populaire - the bigger the crowds, the bigger your cut. She doesn't owe you anything."

He wants to strangle her, this insolent shrew, wants to push her into the wall and… and…

There is little light in this forgotten corridor at the back of the theatre but Meg Giry's eyes are blazing. She wields her words like a dagger, plunging it into the chink she has exposed.

"You fell in love with her. But you cannot frighten her into loving you. Raoul is the one she wants."

The Phantom fixes her with his fiercest glare, the one that has made grown-men piss themselves. Meg does not falter. Who is this mad woman who dares meet him toe-to-toe? Even her mother isn't bold enough to push him so far. Is it pure stupidity or something more?

"I can take care of de Chagny."

She actually rolls her eyes. _Unbelievable._

"I know you can _take care of him_ ," she emphasises the words with quotation marks, "that's what worries me."

He sneers, "You fear for the posh ponce."

"I like Raoul, he is a genuinely good person and he treats Christine right." She gives him a cutting look. "But I also worry what will happen when the heir of the very rich and very powerful de Chagny family mysteriously disappears. They have huge influence and plenty of resources. They will discover your involvement and seek to destroy you and anyone else caught in the crossfire."

It would be a bloodbath, the Phantom realises. There would be no winners in a war between the de Chagny's and the Phantom, only collateral.

He hasn't considered the risk before, everything else seemed inconsequential to winning Christine's heart. But now the cogs are whirring in his brain. He has always been weak to desire; those born with nothing crave everything. Strict discipline is necessary to keep him focused on what is important, yet he has allowed himself to succumb to this one flight of fancy and if he follows temptation down its path he risks losing everything he has worked so hard to build.

And would it be worth it, for a woman who doesn't love him?

Awareness washes over him like a bucket of ice and Meg is the one who dumped it. He can't let her see how she has affected him.

"What do you care if I am destroyed? Your mother is smart, she'd keep you safe, and surely the world is better off without monsters like me."

Meg narrows her eyes, nose crinkling, and gives him a considering look. He tries not to tense under her scrutiny. Her opinion shouldn't matter to him as much as it does.

"You killed Joseph Buquet."

The Phantom is surprised but doesn't let the accusation throw him. It is hardly the first time someone has tried to trick him into confessing.

"The name rings a bell."

"Joseph Buquet was our chief stagehand and a drunk. He got tangled in the ropes one night and fell to his death during a live performance. It was a massive scandal."

"An accident," he hums. "I must have read about it in the news."

Her eyelids lower and she stares at him from under her lashes. It almost distracts him from her next words.

"Rumour is the managers had been late in paying your fee. Some wondered if there was a connection."

"And what do you think?" He doesn't mean to lean in but they are so close now and she doesn't pull back.

"I think it's odd the elusive Phantom would go to the trouble of killing a man himself and risk being seen but then who would believe a distraught ballerina after the trauma of a corpse almost dropping on her. It's not surprising in her state of distress she imagined a masked man standing in the rafters."

She taps a finger against his white half-mask. The Phantom catches her wrist but doesn't snap it like he could.

"You were there?"

"Of course," she chirps, not sounding particularly traumatised from what he can admit would be a terrifying ordeal.

He never gave much thought to who was on the stage that night. He knew Antoinette's daughter danced at the Opéra Populaire but hadn't considered her involvement.

"I'm…" with alarm he realises he is about to apologise and give himself away, "...that must have been… alarming."

She shrugs. "Yes, it was… but I'm glad."

His chest stutters.

Her mouth twists with a wire thin smile. "You look shocked. I'm sure you're no stranger to the cold-hearted in your line of work."

The Phantom is not, but she doesn't seem the mercenary type. With blonde curls and a white dress she resembles a winter sprite yet warmth radiates from her like a summer sun.

"I do not believe your heart cold, Ms Giry."

" _Meg_ ," she corrects. "And maybe, maybe not. I'm glad all the same. Joseph Buquet was a monster."

He doesn't reply. He is familiar with Buquet's character.

_What did he do to you?_ He wants to ask and dreads the answer.

She hears the unspoken question. "He spied on us in our dressing room and assaulted some of the girls. The managers knew but never did anything about it. I broke his nose once," she grins, a wolf's smile, and something inside him perks up. "He was livid, made all sorts of threats, implied if I wasn't careful I'd suffer the same fate as my mother."

Her smile disappears and she glances at his hand, the one still clenched around her wrist, white-knuckled and near bruising. He releases her, startled by his anger.

He hadn't known of Buquet's threats. If he had he would have ensured Buquet broke both his legs before choking on his own blood (harder to disguise as an accident but the authorities know better than to pry). He is surprised Antoinette didn't tell him, but if she'd known she probably would have butchered Buquet herself.

"As it was, tragedy befell him before it did me," Meg finishes, nonchalant. "I never told the police what I saw that night. Not that it would have mattered, but…"

_But._

He doesn't know how he, the most feared man in the criminal underworld, is hanging on the words of a ballet rat, but…

Meg looks at him, face set, eyes steady. "Maybe it's wrong of me but I've no issue with a monster who hunts other monsters."

The Phantom sucks in a breath and releases it. "You recognise I am a monster."

She opens her mouth but he holds up his hand and she miraculously remains silent.

"You know what I am capable of yet you ambush me here, in this dark forgotten crevice where no one will find us. If you scream, everyone is too far away to arrive in time, if they even bother."

He drops his hand to her throat, holding her there. She stiffens, pulse quickening beneath his gloved palm. He flexes his fingers but doesn't tighten his grip.

"You, Meg Giry, are at the mercy of a monster."

She stares up at him, defiant till the end. It riles him, frost creeping into his voice.

"You have the gall to confront me about my personal affairs, to lecture me. You foolish, reckless girl. I have killed for less. Don't think your mother will save you. She answers to _me_. I expected her daughter to show more sense. What foolish sentiment compels you?"

"Love."

The word is a slap in the face.

" _Love_ , the most foolish sentiment of them all."

She surges forward, rising on her tiptoes, even with his hand still around her neck.

"I love Christine, she is my best friend. I will defend her with my life."

"And if I kill you now there will be no one standing in my way."

"Except for Raoul, his family, their associates, the authorities, and Christine herself." She actually looks bored, slumping into his hold. "You won't kill me."

"Don't tempt me."

He squeezes his hand waiting until she winces and then releases her completely. She stumbles but recovers with a dancer's grace. He spins on his heel, distancing himself by a few paces then turning back around to face her, his long black coat swishing with the movement.

"What will you give me in return? If I agree to leave Christine and de Chagny alone."

He isn't thinking, mouth running without a plan, but for the first time Meg looks unsure.

"What do you mean?"

"Come now, Ms Giry, I am a businessman. You cannot hope to succeed with threats so you must have something to trade. What is it you offer? Keep in mind Ms Daaé is a treasure beyond compare."

"What is it you want?"

She glares and it fills him with childish glee. He resists from clapping his hands. Although he is the most formidable of the pair until now it has been Meg leading the dance. It is time he seized control.

"I want Christine but since you are standing in my way perhaps you will offer yourself in her place."

It seems he has finally rendered her speechless. It doesn't taste as sweet as he thought it would but he ignores the twist in his gut. As the quiet stretches out his unease grows. She doesn't appear shocked or disgusted but thoughtful as if she is seriously considering his proposal.

He wasn't expecting that and doesn't know what he will do if she takes him up on the offer. He can't lose face by backing out now but Antoinette will have his balls if she learns he blackmailed her daughter into having relations with him. It is the sort of line the Phantom never crosses and yet it dawns on him this is where his flirtation with Christine is leading. The thought does not sit easy but before he can examine it further Meg makes her move.

She steps forward and he can't stop himself from flinching (so much for being the most feared man in the criminal underworld). She stops in front of him and places her hands on his shoulders, fingers curling into the padded fabric. He doesn't know why he is allowing her to touch him; he rarely permits anyone so close.

He stands, tense, as she rises on her tiptoes, and watches transfixed as those pink lips press against his own, warm and moist, with the faint taste of cherry lip balm. He observes her as she kisses him. He knows etiquette is to shut his eyes as she has her own but he fears if he does she will disappear and he is curious. She doesn't wince, doesn't appeared disgusted or pained, no wrinkle mars her brow. Her features are smooth, calm, absorbed with the task at hand.

To his regret she soon pulls back. He had been so focused on reading her reaction that he forgot to savour the moment, unlikely to get a second chance.

Her eyes flutter open and she meets his gaze. Whatever she sees makes the corners of her mouth twitch. His face heats feeling like a teenager caught doing something he shouldn't, but there is nothing nasty about her smile.

"You should consider turning your attentions elsewhere. There is more than Christine. Others who are willing and wanting."

The desire to ask if she is one of them burns through him but he bites his tongue, afraid of the answer and his reaction to it. If Christine Daaé is the impossible pipe dream then Meg Giry is a moonbeam in his hand.

"You should return, they will be missing you at rehearsal," he says, dismissively, needing this interaction to end before he loses what little remains of his sanity.

Meg retracts her hand, stepping out of reach. "I guess so."

The Phantom doesn't let himself acknowledge her disappointment or his own. Instead he turns his back, remembering his purpose for taking this route in the first place. How much time has this interlude cost him? It feels like hours have passed in this grimy corner of the opera house.

"What will you do about Christine?"

He tilts his face so it is the mask looking back at her. _Christine_ , the reason for everything, the supposed love of his life.

"I am not some love-struck fool. Time is money and I shall not waste it pining," he asserts, although until now that's exactly what he intended to do. "I will not interfere with Christine's happiness so long as she is happy with de Chagny. If he mistreats her or she changes her mind then I will be there."

"If Raoul hurts Christine you can do whatever you please."

Her fierce devotion to her friend is admirable, even if it leads her to do stupid things.

He nods and carries on down the corridor.

"Wait!"

The Phantom gives commands, he doesn't take them. And yet, he pauses.

"Our bargain?"

She sounds unsure, different to the woman who cornered a crime boss in a deserted corridor.

"There is nothing I want from you."

That's not strictly true, not anymore, but he pushes those thoughts aside.

However, Meg is insistent. "All the same, I'd rather not be indebted to you. Name your price."

Does she have no sense of self-preservation? He shall have to speak with Antoinette, although he will leave out the part where he threatened and kissed her daughter.

Very well, if she wants him to name a price…

"Call me Erik."

He doesn't wait for her response, striding down the corridor and disappearing round the corner into a secret passage that should prevent her following if she does indeed have a death wish.

The withered clump of coal that serves as his heart shudders inside his chest. Sweat has gathered on his palms and is seeping through his gloves. His fingers twitch with the urge to compose.

He curses Meg Giry. She is stubborn, insolent, foolish…

...and fierce, and brilliant, and brave…

It is possible the Phantom has finally met his match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is a fanfiction, reality and common sense have been suspended in favour of romance. Don't do crime and stay away from the mob.


	2. deux

* * *

"He's so tall and handsome as hell

He's so bad but he does it so well"

_**Wildest Dreams** _ **\- Taylor Swift**

* * *

Meg wakes to a hand around her throat and the Phantom looming over her.

"Did you think there wouldn't be consequences?"

His voice is velvet, his touch is silk, gloved fingers press upon her throat, crushing the airways. Her bedroom is distorted with shadows but his white half mask glows like the crescent moon.

Can he feel her pulse trembling beneath his touch?

"Say my name."

" _Erik_ ," she gasps, breathless.

"Good," the Phantom croons, stroking a finger down her cheek.

He leans in and Meg wakes, this time for real, to the obnoxious blare of her alarm.

It takes her a moment to untangle herself from the dream. She touches her neck, still feeling the pressure of his fingertips. With a groan, she extracts herself from the pillow, a little drool clinging to her chin.

Her phone is still blasting the obnoxious pop song set as her alarm and she shuts it off. With that accomplished, Meg lowers her face back into her pillow and screams.

Since their encounter at the Opéra Populaire, Meg has not been able to get the Phantom - _call me Erik_ \- out of her head. She'd wonder if she were mad but she must be to have gone marching up to a crime boss like that. She knows his reputation, knows she is ridiculously lucky to be alive and not at the bottom of a lake, but her determination to protect her friend had overridden good sense.

Christine is kind and gentle but easily taken advantage of. Meg has been chasing off creeps since they were young and the Phantom is just another example except with a whole syndicate behind him. That, and he is her mother's boss / friend. If it had been anyone else, commonsense might have prevailed, but she still remembers how the Phantom helped them through that dark time in their lives.

Since her mother hasn't skinned her and turned her into shoes, Meg thinks it is safe to assume the Phantom hasn't snitched. Nor has there been any other consequences. She tries not to let it go to her head, but she is dizzy with the prospect… she bargained with the devil and won.

It's been months without incident; no notes or roses delivered to Christine. To everyone's relief the Phantom seems to have given-up on the singer. Her friend walks lighter, the colour returned to her cheeks. Meg worries they are being lulled into a false sense of security but Christine has finally started to relax and she doesn't want to reawaken her anxiety.

The few times Meg has spoken with her mother, she has pestered the woman for news on the Phantom. But Antoinette Giry knows how to keep a secret and warns her daughter not to pry into matters that don't concern her (if only she knew). Meg argues if it involves Christine then it concerns her since the two are best friends and living together, but her mother insists there is nothing to tell and ends the conversation there. Meg has to let it go, not wanting to incur suspicion (she likes shoes but she doesn't want to become shoes).

She should forget the Phantom, give herself a pat on the back and never do anything so stupidly dangerous again. But he haunts her like his namesake; his voice follows her like a song stuck in her head. She sees him in shadows and remembers his touch like he left his fingerprints all over her skin. She replays the memory alone in her bedroom, shuddering from the intensity, his name on her lips.

She should probably seek therapy, this can't be healthy. Christine likes to tease Meg for tending to fall for the villain in shows and books but she doubts her friend will find it so funny if she discovers who Meg is imagining when she loses herself in daydreams. The whole love triangle between Raoul, Christine, and the Phantom is enough of a disaster without Meg making it a square.

She definitely needs help. Or maybe just a good lay. Her eyes wander to the white gown hanging on her door. She bought it from a charity shop but it's still in good condition; it has a plunging neckline trimmed in silver beading and a thigh-high slit on one side. It might once have been a wedding dress, although she can't imagine walking down the aisle in something so risqué. However, it suits her purpose.

The Opéra Populaire is hosting a mask ball to raise money for underprivileged youths in the performing arts. It will be a prime opportunity for the managers to show-off to potential new patrons and an even better one for Meg to forget all about the Phantom, with masked men on the right side of the law.

At the very least it's a night out in a pretty dress with free food and champagne. Meg is excited and she is not going to let thoughts of the Phantom ruin it. Even so, she can't prevent herself from recalling what it was to kiss him and taste flame.

-oOo-

Raoul picks them up from their flat, whistling when he sees Meg in her dress, before he is transfixed by Christine. Her friend's gown consists of a black bust which blends into a flowing white skirt decorated in floral black lace. Raoul jokes about being the envy of all with both of them on his arm and Meg laughs, knowing his heart belongs solely to Christine.

The gala is an odd intermingling of rich socialites and theatre performers still struggling to pay their bills. For one evening everyone is glammed up, sipping champagne, and laughing together like there's no class divide. The hosts, Firmin and André, flit about the room, schmoozing the most important and well-to-do guests. Their laughter can be heard from all corners of the ballroom.

The theme is a black and white masquerade so naturally Carlotta is dressed in red, heavily adorned with rubies. The prima donna is suitably flustered, claiming with a heavy accent that she misunderstood, while a swarm of doting admirers rush to reassure her she looks fabulous.

"If only her acting were as good on stage," Meg whispers and Christine giggles.

The wait staff weave in and out of the crowd serving wine and canapés. Meg smiles and chats with the other cast members but her goal tonight hinges on meeting someone new. It is useful having Raoul with them, as a de Chagny he is known and welcomed by everyone, which means Christine and Meg are as well.

Despite his family's wealth and reputation, Raoul has never acted like he is better than anyone and always treats Meg kindly. A genuine kindness, not a performance to impress Christine. The two share a similar humour along with an unwavering devotion to the young brunette. Meg considers Raoul a friend and is glad she didn't let the Phantom _take care of him_.

Raoul is the perfect wingman, introducing Meg to an acquaintance of his named David, who is friendly enough if a little dull. But he doesn't need conversation skills for what she has in mind.

Meg devours another crab puff and fantasizes about fried chicken. David is saying something about stocks and trade, Meg nodding along, when André swaggers past, two giggling women on either arm, and knocks into her, spilling red wine all down her dress.

"Oh, Megan, dear, so sorry," André prattles, voice jovial and unconcerned. "Let me make it up to you. Drinks on me. Or rather drinks on you."

His companions titter at the joke while Meg stands mortified, damp fabric rubbing against her skin. The dark stain seeps across the white dress until she resembles a victim in a horror movie.

David looks on, awkwardly.

"Oh Meg!"

Christine hurries to her friend's side, her presence an immediate comfort to the blonde.

"We need to pour white wine over the dress to counteract the red." Raoul swoops in like a knight in shining arm.

Her friends lead her to the bar. David doesn't follow, already striking up a conversation with someone else. Meg has bigger worries.

Christine fusses over her while Raoul has white wine poured onto the dark blotch. She feels as if everyone is staring at her. She has never suffered from stage fright but she suddenly understands the sensation. She wants to go home. She wants the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

Christine, always understanding, reads her expression. "Would you like us to leave? We can go home."

"No, don't cut your fun short because of me. I can get home on my own. You should stay."

"It's really no issue, we don't mind."

Christine is kind but Meg will only feel worse if she ruins their evening as well.

"I can take you back," Raoul offers, ever the gentleman.

"No, no, it's fine. I'll take a cab."

"Honestly Meg, I can take you, it's not a problem."

"It's kind of you to offer but I can manage on my own. If you're not careful Christine might meet someone more handsome and be swept off her feet."

"Meg!" Her friend gasps but Raoul looks amused.

"You don't believe that."

"You're right," Meg concedes. "Christine would never do that to you."

"No," Raoul's eyes twinkle, "that someone could be more handsome than me."

Meg laughs, her mood moderately improved, and her smile helps convince her friends to return to the party. She lingers for a moment, watching as Raoul sweeps his girlfriend into a dance. The honeymoon period should have elapsed by now but the young couple are still nauseatingly in love. The sort of romance that makes you believe in fairytales.

Meg is happy for them. She will fight all the criminals in the city if it keeps Christine smiling like that.

She decides to freshen up in the bathroom before leaving. The scarlet blotch looks worse in the mirror. It is unfortunately positioned and one well-meaning woman offers her a tampon. Meg declines and hurries away, sure her face must match her dress.

Carlotta passes Meg in the lobby, her flock of admirers trailing behind. The prima donna sneers at the ballerina and Meg pokes out her tongue.

"Don't mind her jealousy, Ms. Giudicelli pales beside you."

Meg stiffens, unable to believe her luck. She glances to the left and yes, there is the Phantom, looking regal in a well-fitted tuxedo and long coat. A black mask covers all but his mouth. Memories of their kiss flit through her mind, warmth flooding her cheeks, and she hurries to hide her reaction behind a cold front.

"Beside Christine, you mean."

"I meant what I said."

His gaze is as intense as she remembers; the heat of it sears her skin and she feels as if she is made of wax.

"I suppose she's upset I look better in red."

She regrets it as soon as she says it. She doesn't want to draw his attention to the stain but it's too late.

"Yes, I witnessed the unfortunate incident."

"You were at the gala?"

Meg almost forgets her embarrassment, taken aback. Then she recalls the mask and wants to sink through the floor.

"Yes, I intended to relieve you of that imbecile before he bored you to death when your bumbling manager solved the matter for me."

His voice is even. If he thinks her silly, he doesn't show it.

Meg is dizzy with the implications. The Phantom had been watching her? He planned to approach and then what?

She manages to gather enough of her wits to respond, "It's nice to know you don't want me dead. Unless you want the deed's satisfaction for yourself."

The Phantom doesn't blink. "Do you need a lift home, Ms Giry?"

Meg blinks plenty. "That's a terrifying response, also it's Meg, and I was planning on taking a cab."

"If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be around for us to have this delightful conversation, _Meg_."

His voice is rich and intoxicating even when he is discussing her potential murder. Definitely a bad idea.

"What are you even doing here… at the gala, I mean? You haven't been to the opera house in months."

"Just because you haven't seen me, doesn't mean I haven't been there."

"You stopped sending Christine flowers."

He tilts his head and there is something so surprisingly human about the gesture. "I was told to leave Christine alone."

Meg swallows, struggling to keep her voice steady "And you listened?"

His eyes are hooded under the mask. "You were very persuasive."

Meg stares at her sparkly open-toe heels. Right now, in her wine-stained dress, she doesn't understand how she made the king of the underworld bow to her command.

"She's happy."

Meg looks up. The Phantom is facing away from her, gazing in the direction of the gala and the couples dancing within.

"She loves him."

Meg doesn't have to ask who he is referring to - Christine and Raoul.

"She does," Meg agrees. "He loves her too."

The Phantom bows his head and his lips form something that is too sad for a smile but she doesn't know what else to call it.

He looks back at her and though the mask hides his face she senses an openness about him.

"Good, Christine deserves to be happy."

Meg doesn't know what to say; she fiddles with her necklace and shifts on her feet. This moment feels so fragile, like a delicate glass ornament. She is afraid to break it with a careless remark but is terrified he will vanish if she doesn't offer something.

The Phantom acts before she can speak, removing his long coat and holding it out to her.

"Here. You must be cold and it's long enough to hide the stain."

Meg stares at the coat and then at the Phantom, lost for words.

His lip twitches. "You are quiet. Where is that barbed tongue now?"

Meg pouts but can think of no response. Instead she accepts the coat, slipping it on. Naturally, it smells like the Phantom, musky and masculine. She restrains herself from taking a sniff.

It does indeed cover the stain and she feels marginally better. No longer so self-conscious, she indulges in some self-pity instead.

"I really liked this dress."

"I could ensure André has a bad night."

Meg looks at him, sharply. "No murdering my boss!"

He looks offended. "Really, Meg, you have such a low opinion of me. I am far more creative than basic murder."

That isn't at all reassuring and Meg continues to glare.

The Phantom raises his hands. "Don't fret, no harm will befall Mr André. I only meant to give the managers a good scare, remind them who really runs the opera."

Meg sucks in her lip, remembering how dangerous the Phantom is and how little that does to dissuade her attraction.

"And have you?" She asks for a lack of anything better.

"No." He slides his hands into his pockets in a too casual gesture. "I thought I'd check if Cinderella needed a ride home from the ball."

It takes Meg a beat to realise he is talking about her.

"My mother warned me not to get into cars with strangers," Meg says, watching his reaction.

There's something in the tilt of his head that makes her think he's lifting his eyebrows. "If you always listened to mother we wouldn't be having this conversation."

He's right about that.

She is tempted to accept his offer and prolong their time together but she's hesitant to share her address. Not for her own safety but Christine's.

The Phantom is more astute than she gives credit. "If you're worried about revealing your address I'm afraid it's too late, I already know."

"Prove it!" Meg snaps back. After all, he is a trickster and a liar.

Without missing a beat the Phantom recites her address and Meg's stomach drops. At last some fear of the man begins to creep in. Although, not enough to dim the allure. Stupid moths and their stupid flames.

"Am I going to wake up to a horse's head on my pillow?" She blurts out like an idiot.

The Phantom - honest to god - snorts. "Like I said, I'm far more creative."

His smile is downright wolfish and she doesn't trust it no matter what it does to her insides. Seeing her doubt, his expression turns… gentle.

"If it makes you feel any better. I've known for some time and haven't misused it." Meg narrows her eyes, warily, and he continues. "It was more for your safety as Antoinette's daughter than anything to do with Christine."

She should tell Christine.

_Should_ she tell Christine?

It will only scare her friend and she will likely be moving in with Raoul soon enough anyway. Maybe Meg shouldn't worry her unnecessarily. And if he's telling the truth and there really is nothing to fear…

She is not being a good friend…. crushing on your best friend's ex-stalker (?) is probably not what a good friend should do…

God, what a mess.

The Phantom must sense her distress. "I've frightened you."

His voice is impassive, revealing nothing. Meg suppresses a shiver and tightens the coat around her.

"You don't frighten me nearly as much as you should," she admits.

"Ah."

He says it like he understands, but how can he when she doesn't even understand herself.

He considers her for a long moment then, "Would it make things better or worse if I asked you to dinner?

Meg's heart cartwheels in her chest and only careful control stops her from doing the same physically.

"I'm uh… I can't go into a restaurant looking like this." She gestures at her ruined dress, remorsefully.

"We could go to a drive-thru."

Meg tries to imagine sinister crime boss the Phantom ordering at a drive-thru. She _has_ to see this, for the entertainment value alone. Plus, she isn't ready for their interaction to end.

"I could go for some fried chicken," Meg tries to sound casual.

That is how she ends up feasting on a bucket of fried chicken and fries next to the Phantom in the back seat of his limousine, while his driver takes them on a tour of the city, pretending he can't hear their laughter through the blacked out window which divides them.

As far as first dates go - not that this is a date - it's a pretty good one. Meg tears into her spicy chicken wings, stealing glances at the Phantom as he slurps his milkshake through the straw.

Is he enjoying himself as much as she? He seems to be, but it's hard to tell with the mask. Not for the first time, she wonders what he's hiding under there.

It's surprising they have so much to talk about considering she's a dancer and he's the head of a criminal organisation, but along with theatre he shares her enthusiasm for all things supernatural (which might explain the name) and they end up discussing Doctor Who, Buzzfeed Unsolved, and Stranger Things.

It is spacious in the back of the limousine but Meg's knee presses against the Phantom's, neither pulling away. She is still wearing his coat, his cologne hangs in the air, filling her senses. Despite her previous fears, Meg is comfortable here with him.

She watches, mesmerised, as the Phantom transforms from the dark king of the underworld into a flesh and blood human who believes in ghosts and thinks Christopher Eccleston was the best Doctor.

"It's a wonder you have any taste buds left," the Phantom muses as she lathers hot sauce onto the last of the fries.

"I have excellent taste." Meg winks and pops the fries into her mouth.

When she is finished she licks the sauce from her fingers, making more of a show of it than necessary. The Phantom watches her, dark eyes glittering behind the mask.

There's a change in the atmosphere, the air seems thicker than before, there is something here, something between them… it feels like potential…

"I think we should return you to your flat," the Phantom says and the bubble bursts.

Disappointment hums through Meg.

As if seeing this, the Phantom adds with haste, "I enjoyed your company this evening, Meg."

"I did too," Meg replies and tries to make sense of the tangle of feelings inside her.

The Phantom nods and moves to tap on the glass divide.

This is it, Meg realises, and jerks forward.

" _Or,_ " the Phantom looks at her and she rushes out the next words before she loses her nerve. "We could go to yours?"

The Phantom stares at her and again Meg wishes he wasn't wearing the mask. But she suspects removing it wouldn't make his thoughts any easier to read.

She wonders how much her own face is giving away but finds she doesn't care. He stares her down as if to call her bluff, but Meg doesn't flinch

She's all in.

Wetting her lips, she tries out his name, barely more than a whisper, " _Erik._ "

The spell is broken, or perhaps it is cast. Erik knocks on the glass, his eyes never leaving Meg's.

"Home, Cesar."

"Yes, sir."

Erik looks at her as if to say, _are you sure_?

Meg pounces across the plush seats intending to kiss him, Erik catches her round the waist, but the car changes direction and the couple are thrown to the floor, limbs intertwined. Erik softens her fall, rolling so Meg lands on top of him and they stare at each other.

She can't help giggling. "Looks like you've fallen for me."

Erik's lips curl into a heartstopping smile. "So I have."

Meg melts a bit more and he pushes the advantage, leaning forward until their mouths collide. He tastes like fire and Meg is all too happy to burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is wondering I plan to update on weekends. The next chapter won't be up until Saturday.


	3. trois

* * *

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication

Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation"

 _**The Music of the Night** _ **– Andrew Lloyd Webber**

* * *

Erik has been called heartless often enough he almost believes it himself. But anyone who could hear his heart now would know the truth.

Cesar doesn't ask questions, doesn't even raise an eyebrow as Erik helps Meg from the car, her dress parting to reveal lovely long legs. Fooling around with a blonde bombshell is common sport for men in his position and something Erik never does.

Christine was the first to catch his eye in a long time and now here he is with her best friend. He wonders what that says about him. But he doesn't dwell on Christine when he still tastes Meg on his tongue.

Channeling the Phantom's confidence, he places a hand on the blonde's lower back and guides her into the building. She thrums beneath his touch, a jitter of pent-up energy, eager for release. Emboldened, he shifts his hand lower until he hears her breath catch. He grins and squeezes, before sliding his palm back to her waist.

For her part, Meg struts through the halls like a queen in her castle; hips swishing with an exaggeration that can only be deliberate.

In his line of work, Erik is top dog, the Big Bad Wolf, savouring the reek of terror from his prey, blood on his teeth. It amuses him to toy with them, lead them in circles, chasing their own tails, until they trip and stumble right into his claws. But this is a new game and though Meg has the grace of a gazelle, she is far from meak prey. She looks at him with hunger and the wolf inside growls in response.

They do not stop, however tempted Erik is to push Meg against the wall. He is not interested in putting on a show for security. She is still wearing his coat, enfolded in the fabric as if it were his own embrace. The tension builds with each step, their bodies brush like matchsticks, once more and they will surely catch fire.

Then they are in the elevator and Erik is punching in his security code. The doors have barely closed before Erik has Meg wedged against the railing, leaning over her delicate frame, while her fingers twist around his tie. Their eyes lock.

It has never been like this with anyone else. Not that there have been many.

Erik is out of his depth. Meg is the siren luring him into dark waters.

He gladly goes under.

Her lips are caught between his own when the elevator dings. Erik sucks on her bottom lip and steps back, taking her in. Her cheeks are flushed, pupils blown wide, she pants softly and Erik wants to swallow those precious puffs of air.

She regards him like a snake coiled to strike and he finds himself craving the venom of her bite.

"Welcome to my humble abode."

He leads her into his penthouse apartment and Meg snorts.

" _Humble_?"

Erik's lip twitches. "May I take your coat?"

"You may take _your_ coat." She slips her arms from the sleeves and hands it to him.

He hangs it up, his gaze never quite leaving her as she removes her heels, balancing on one foot then the other with the ease of a seasoned ballerina. With the coat gone he can appreciate the full effect of her gown; shimmering white fabric clings to her curves, the neckline dips tantalising low.

Desire seizes him like a riptide, pulling him towards her.

"Would you like some wine?"

"No thanks. I've had enough for tonight." Her smile is playful but it dims as she glances again at the stain.

"I could have the dress cleaned," he offers overcome with an urge to solve all her problems. "My people are experts in stain removal."

Meg laughs loudly before clamping a hand over her mouth, a smile peeking out from behind.

"I probably shouldn't laugh."

No, she shouldn't. She ought to be terrified; scrambling to get as far from him as possible. But it seems the current has caught her too and they draw closer, heading for a collision.

"With a laugh as lovely as yours, you should laugh as often as you like."

This earns him a smile and warmth blossoms inside him.

She turns, glancing at him over her shoulder with an impish grin. "Will you unzip me?"

Erik stills, heart beating in the palm of his hands. With slow steps he advances, stopping short of her back. He trails a hand up the curve of her spine, watching as the satin fabric ripples beneath his fingertips. When he reaches the zipper his hand hovers for a moment and he leans in. His lips skim the crook of her neck, pausing just below her ear.

"Little Giry," he mouths against her skin, "Are you sure?"

"Call me Little Giry again and I will walk."

Erik chuckles. "So bold."

"You're stalling," she retorts, the stammer in her voice barely discernible. "I am sure, Erik, _please_."

"As the lady commands."

He drags the zipper down, teasing her and himself as inch by inch he reveals the freckled expanse of her back

She is not wearing a bra.

The zipper ends just above her tail bone and he steps back, swallowing hard. Meg turns and meets his gaze, unflinching.

"Thank you," she says and slips the straps from her shoulders. The dress pools at her feat.

Erik stands rigid, taking her in.

"Venus ascends," he exhales.

Meg flushes and fiddles with her blonde curls, evidently battling the urge to cover herself.

"If that metaphor tracks you must be Pluto, mighty ruler of the underworld," she smiles, coquettishly.

"I don't believe those two were ever a couple though with the Greek and Roman pantheon you can never be sure."

Too late, Erik realises an impromptu lesson in mythology may not be the best foreplay, but Meg doesn't seem deterred, prowling towards him with a determined glint in her eyes.

"Then feed me pomegranate seeds and I shall be your Proserpina."

She snags his collar and hauls him into a kiss. Erik goes willing, mouth hot and needy. Meg is wine on his tongue and he drinks her in. His hand grasps her waist, savouring the supple flesh beneath his palm, the other slides into soft gilded locks. He doesn't think about how long it has been since he has done this, focusing solely on Meg and her pleasure.

She bites down on his lower lip and he jerks back.

"You are wearing too many clothes," she declares, tugging at his lapels, pushing the suit jacket down his arms and tossing it aside.

He doesn't see where it lands. Meg fills his senses, her hands all over him, unbuttoning his waistcoat, hooking her fingers into his tie and unravelling it as she unravels him. His hand slides to knead her breasts, thumb brushing over hardened nipples.

"Perhaps Venus de Milo is more apt."

"You'll find I'm a bit more hands-on."

Her hands slip into his trousers as if to emphasise her point. Erik groans, heaving her into him, his mouth pressed to her hairline.

"Goddess," he sighs, voice ragged. "Let me worship thee."

Meg giggles, the sound is champagne. "Take me to thy altar."

It is all the encouragement Erik needs and he hefts her into his arms. She laughs, long sunlight curls swishing, fingers sinking into his shoulders as he carries her to the bedroom. There, he carefully lowers her onto the silk sheets.

She spreads out before him, beckoning with one finger. If his enemies could see him now, succumbing so easily to a woman's wiles, they would think him weak but Erik doesn't give a damn about his enemies or anyone who is not Meg.

He shirks his shirt, crawling towards her. Meg is divine, her touch is golden, and when she takes his throbbing member in hand, he is no longer tethered to this mortal plane. He strains, reaching out to hold her, but it is she who bows her head, delighting in his offering, and though he is long past salvation, Erik cries out a prayer.

It doesn't take long, though in the moment he feels infinite. Erik shudders through the come down, hot shame and satisfaction coiling through him. He squirms out of his splattered garments, baring himself to her.

Fortunately, his disfigurement does not extend to the rest of him. With the mask in place he doesn't feel naked.

Meg crawls into his lap, looking like the cat who got the cream.

He sighs, eyes fluttering shut for a second. "Your mother will have my balls nailed to the opera house."

"Don't mention my mother," Meg cringes, pinching his nipple and soothing the spot with her tongue. By God her tongue is Holy.

Her hands trail up the length of his arms, to his shoulders; one slips around his neck, the other caresses the edges of his mask.

His hand clamps around her wrist and her fingers spring back as if burned. She looks at him pointedly and he relaxes his grip.

"Meg…" He kisses her hand and looks away. "You won't like what you find."

Meg twists her hand from his hold and snatches his own, cradling it to her cheek.

"Erik… if nothing else has sent me running, your face certainly won't."

She presses kisses to each of his fingers and guides his hand to her breasts, her glorious bosom rising and falling around him. There is something soothing in the rhythm, he could compose music to this.

"I've seen it before."

It takes a beat for the words to register but when they do he flinches. Only Meg's grip and her thighs around him prevent a full retreat.

"When we were living with you… I saw you once… without the mask… I was supposed to be asleep but you were talking with my mother."

"You didn't scream."

His tone is harsh but she smiles.

"Oh, it was a shock but I was delighted. You would frighten all the monsters away. You would keep us safe… and you did."

Erik frowns. "If this is some misplaced gratitude-"

Meg shoves his shoulder. "I'm not doing this for any other reason than because I want to."

She drops his hand and something nervous… _vulnerable_ … slips across her features.

"I… um… I dreamed… of you."

"What?" He has to check he heard her right.

"I dreamed of you," she says again, boldness returning. "Hot, sexy dreams. I got myself off to the image of you." She looks at him through her lashes. "It's never been a question of me wanting you."

Erik stares. She… she dreamed… of… of _him…_? She _touched_ _herself_ thinking of him!

His head spins, blood rushing south. The Phantom opens his eyes.

"Show me."

She falters. "Wh-what?"

"Show me." He cocks his head to the side. "You're a performer… show me how you pleasured yourself thinking of me."

Crimson rises in her cheeks but if he's learnt one thing about Meg Giry it is she never backs down.

"Alright."

She flips her hair over her shoulder and shuffles from his lap, reclining into the pillows behind. Kicking her legs in the air so they hover just above his shoulders, she meets his gaze and glances pointedly at her crotch.

Erik doesn't hesitate; he slides the lace panties from her legs, discarding them somewhere as he takes in the dark curls and between them her glistening centre. His mouth goes dry, blood turns molten, but instead of reaching out as he so desperately desires, he shifts backwards, granting her the space to perform, then gestures for her to continue.

Meg narrows her eyes at the challenge and lowers her legs, gaze never wavering from his as she circles a finger around her core, teasing the folds before slipping inside.

Erik watches, entranced, as her finger dips in and out, slicked with her juices, a squelching sound accompanying the motion. Soon another fingers joins it, then another.

Meg writhes upon his bed, leaking pre-cum all over the silk sheets, her fingers burrowing deeper and deeper inside while the other hand toys with her nipples.

" _E- Erik_ … fuck! ... _Er- ik_ , please… _Erik!_ "

He knows no sweeter music than his name on her lips. It takes all his restraint to stop himself from reaching for her. His cock is rock solid. His inner animal scratches at his skin, feral with the need to touch, to hold, to cherish this beautiful darling.

"Stop."

She stills at his command, gazing up at him curiously. Her eyes are more black than blue.

"Erik?"

Her fingers slide free and the Phantom prowls forward, snatching her hand and sucking the slick from each digits. She tastes like salt and sin.

Meg shivers, dazed. " _Erik._ "

He releases her hand, letting it flop upon the mattress. "Just a taste before the main course."

She squeals as he lowers his mouth between her legs, lapping at the fluids that spill from her entrance. He tries not to smirk as Meg gasps and ruts against him. She is not the only one with a talented tongue and he is well-practiced in this particular act. He prefers sex when it isn't face-to-face, though with Meg he finds he doesn't mind.

He swirls his tongue, relishing how she twitches and trembles around him, thighs clenching around his shoulders, heels digging into his back.

" _Erik! ERIK! ERrrriiiIIKK!"_

She shudders, legs falling from his as she spasms. He sits up, waiting until her eyes are open to lick his lips, relishing the taste.

" _Fuck,_ " she wheezes.

"In a minute."

Meg glowers. With her golden halo spread across the pillow she looks like a fallen angel. And he her corruptor. Ironic then that they seem to have found paradise.

He bends his head, tracing the moles across her skin, lips trailing from her thigh to her belly and up towards the nape of her neck.

She shudders beneath him. "T-tell meee… you have… you have… a… a con… condom… "

Erik pauses in his ministrations, rolling from her to reach into his bedside cabinet. Just because he doesn't make a habit of sex, doesn't mean he isn't prepared.

Meg snatches the packet from him, tearing it open and rolling the condom onto his erection before he can blink.

They stare at each other.

"Tell me… tell me now… Meg… we are at the point of no return… are you certain you want this?"

Meg rolls her eyes. "We're past that. If you still doubt that I want Erik then allow me to make myself clear."

She hauls herself against him, clasping his shoulders, her nose practically brushing his mask.

"I want you," her hand slides down his chest, "I want your touch" her breath ghosts his lips, "I want your kiss," her tongue flicks out, licking a long strip from his jaw down his neck, "I want your body against mine and I want you inside me." She rolls her hips against his and he releases a groan. "Do you understand?"

" _Yes_ ," he growls.

"Come again?" Her smile is wicked.

He doesn't waste any more time. He positions himself at her entrance, lining up their bodies, then carefully he thrusts into her.

Meg gasps.

His eyes rove over her, checking for any sign of discomfort as he slowly pushes inside. Her walls are hot around him, opening up to allow him deeper, deeper.

" _Erik_ ," she pants, "More, _Erik_ , harder, please."

But Erik is gentle, savouring each sensation. He wants this to be good for her, doesn't want to rush. He has done terrible, monstrous things, but as he sinks into Meg, it seems as if Heaven welcomes him home.

"Meg… _Meg_ …"

She rolls her hips, jostling him deeper still. Nails bite into his shoulders but he barely notices, so lost in the sensation of _her_.

" _Erik!_ Fuck me, Erik! _Please_!"

The Phantom snarls, slamming her wrists into the mattress. "Be careful what you wish for."

He increases his pace, encouraged by her cries. Meg surrounds him, his senses overwhelmed. There is music between them, he can hear the string quartet, feel the precaution as it builds closer to its climax…

_...closer… closer…_

He doesn't even realise he's loosened his hold, Meg's hands all over him. She sings out his name, their voices harmonising into one sustained note.

Then his mouth crashes onto hers, hot and wet and frantic, and the music hits its crescendo.

Meg arches her back, lifting almost entirely off the bed, hot release spilling around Erik, triggering his own.

He collapses onto his elbows, lungs robbed of all air, forehead resting against hers as his vision clears. He is floating.

"... _Meg…_ "

"... _Erik…"_

She caresses his mask, combing her fingers through his hair. Her smile switches from soft to playful.

"We should do that again."

His heart stutters. "You would want to?"

He believed this a one-time fling, something she needed out of her system, and now she scratched the itch she will leave. Except, maybe not…

"Yes!" Meg tilts her head, a glimmer of insecurity. "Don't you?"

Erik tugs her hand to his lips. "My dear Prosperina, my darling demon, of course."

Meg beams and presses a kiss on the nose of his mask. "Good."

Her mouth moves to his and this time the kiss is slow, soft, sweet - so different to the carnal delights they had been enjoying moments before yet nonetheless intoxicating.

"Let me get a cloth," he says as they pull apart.

Although he is loathed to go, he yanks on a pair of sleep pants, offering Meg his shirt, and pads to the en-suite bathroom. When he returns, Meg is stretched out, wearing his shirt, the buttons mostly undone. Blonde frizz sticks out at odd angles.

She is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen and he pauses to take her in.

She catches him looking and grins. "What?"

"I am admiring a work of art," he replies, stalking forward.

She preens, giggling. "Such charm."

"Here, let me help clean you up."

"Oh but I like getting dirty."

She waggles her eyebrows and he chuckles.

"All the same…"

Meg obliges, settling against the pillows, once again allowing him access to that sensitive spot between her legs. He dabs at her thighs, wiping away the stickiness with a warm cloth.

It is so intimate. Erik has never done this with another person but with Meg it feels right.

She watches him, blue eyes shining like sunlight on water. This thing between them is more than lust, more than desire. There is something stirring inside Erik, something new and frightening and precious. But he can examine it another time.

He returns the cloth to the bathroom and settles into bed beside her. She wraps herself around his body, using his chest as a pillow.

The Phantom has never gone to sleep with another person. It requires too much vulnerability. But as he listens to Meg's gentle inhales and exhales, his fingers gliding through her messy curls, he allows himself to drift, finding solace in her warmth and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

He has never been more at peace and soon he is asleep and dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is. I am not confident writing smut, the rest of the story is a lot more tame.


	4. quatre

* * *

"The only heaven I'll be sent to

Is when I'm alone with you"

 _**Take Me to Church –** _ **Hozier**

* * *

"You are changed, Erik."

The Phantom looks at the Persian, sharply. His only reaction.

"You are still fearsome, certainly. Most will not notice, but to those few who know you, well there is a subtle difference."

The Persian smiles in that infuriating manner of his.

"You are happy, Erik. For once you are enjoying life not enduring it. I suspect we have a certain blonde to thank for that."

The Phantom does not move a muscle. His knuckles are white around the countertop.

"Of course, no one has said anything, but…" the Persian leans across and plucks a strand of blonde hair from the Phantom's suit jacket, looking victorious. "I am a detective."

"Careful where your prying gets you, Daroga," the Phantom warns, internally cursing himself for his carelessness.

The Persian is an old associate of Phantom and though he will never say so out loud, the closest he has to a friend. It is the only reason he tolerates the man's boldness.

"Erik, we are friends. I mean no trouble for you or your darling, but I am curious. For a long time you were transfixed with the soprano, Christine Daaé, but she is happily engaged to the de Chagny lad and, I believe, a brunette."

The Phantom knew of Christine's engagement, even before Meg mentioned it. He expected old anguish and jealousies to arise, but feels nothing but content. He no longer loves Christine as he once thought he did. For the first time in a lifetime Erik is happy and it is because of Meg.

"So," the Persian swirls his glass, "Who is the woman who has stolen the Phantom's elusive heart?"

Erik rolls his eyes. "Honestly, Daroga, you sound like a schoolgirl. I don't kiss and tell."

"I expect you to be discreet, as you can trust I will be. I only ask for the sake of her security. Who is watching her? I can have someone assigned. I still have someone watching over Ms Daaé, unless you would like them removed?"

"No, wait until she is married to de Chagny. He will guard her then."

And as Meg is both Christine's flatmate and work colleague, it kills two birds with one stone - or rather, keeps them safe.

"And the blonde?"

Erik holds in a sigh. "When have I been anything but careful, Daroga? We haven't been seen together."

The Persian frowns. "Surely you have taken this girl on a proper date?"

Erik is quiet, thinking about nights spent eating takeaway in his kitchen and watching movies on the sofa, eventually leading to the bedroom. Meg seems to be enjoying herself but perhaps the Persian has a point. How long can this arrangement last?

"Oh Erik," the Persian's tone is disapproving. "Is it just about sex?"

"Of course not," Erik startles, then internally scolds himself for the display. "It is more than that."

"Then take her out for dinner, somewhere nice, treat her right. Don't hide her away like a dirty secret."

Erik grimaces. "It's dangerous for her to be seen with me."

"It's dangerous for her to be involved with you whether it is behind closed doors or out in the open. If you are serious about this woman then make sure she knows it and we will keep her safe."

"I hardly know what I feel," Erik lies.

"Do you care for her, Erik?"

Erik stays silent, loathed to admit his weakness. If the Persian were different he might use this against him but Erik trusts Daroga, foolish as it may be to trust anyone in _the business_.

And though it may be foolish… Erik trusts Meg.

"I do."

"Then why do you look so morose? I mean… more so that usual."

"It's complicated," Erik sighs, hating that he sounds like a sullen teen.

"Complicated how?"

"For starters, I'm the Phantom."

"Pfft, that is nothing. A little danger is intoxicating, it fans the flames," the Persian waggles his eyebrows.

"Then there is my deformity."

"She hasn't seen you without the mask?

"Not recently," he concedes, still uncomfortable with the idea of Meg witnessing his true face.

"But if she has seen you and still wants you, what is there to fear?"

Again, Erik says nothing.

Meg has made it clear she won't be repulsed by his grotesque features and yet Erik cannot bring himself to remove his mask in front of her. She even offered to wear a blindfold if it made him comfortable, but though it sent a hot spike of lust through him, Erik was afraid of her hands feeling the misshapen tissue and so rejected the idea.

Meg has been patient with him but he wonders how long that too can last.

"If those are your only concerns I think you should stop worrying and enjoy the fruits on offer," the Persian declares cheerfully, sipping his scotch.

"She is also Antoinette's daughter."

The Persian chokes.

"Pa-pardon…?" He gawps at Erik. "You mean to say… you… you are… _sleeping_ with Giry's daughter?"

"Yes."

Erik relishes how the other man's eyes bulge.

"Does _she_ know?"

"Who?"

"Antoinette!"

"No."

The Persian gives a low whistle and pats Erik on the back. "Good luck, my friend. I shall miss our talks."

"That will make one of us."

The Persian laughs. "Let us toast… to beautiful women and the trouble they cause."

Just one beautiful woman, Erik thinks as he chinks his glass against the Persian's, and she is worth all the trouble.

-oOo-

Urgent business interrupts his weekend with Meg; the Phantom's response is swift and ruthless. When he returns, he finds an enchanting scene: Meg soaking in his bathtub, submerged up to her neck in bubbles, legs kicked out over the side.

She smiles as he approaches, water droplets glistening her skin. "Care to join me?"

He kneels beside the tub, cradling her foot as if she were Cinderella and he, her dark prince.

"Bathing Beauty, is this the vision that bewitched David? Oh Bathsheba, my mortal eyes are undeserving of your splendor."

Meg giggles. "Your eyes may be mortal but your mouth is divine. Come, kiss me."

He is happy to oblige.

"You have blood on your shirt," she observes once they are separated.

"Does it bother you?" He inquires, holding his breath as she contemplates her answer.

"It probably should… but no." She wrinkles her brows. "That's bad of me, isn't it?"

He dislikes seeing her in distress but his silvertongue feels like lead, struggling to conjure any useful words of comfort. After all, he is the snake in the garden and she has bitten the apple. What right does he have to speak on morality?

Still, when those baby blue eyes fix on his, full of self-doubt, he tries his hardest to reassure her.

"I do not think you bad, Meg… I see the wickedness of man, how easily they allow selfishness and greed to justify their cruelty. They are the sinners in Hell and I, their tormentor. Yes I am cruel, yes I am monstrous, but you, Meg, are an angel above them all, there is no doubt of your virtue."

She softens at the sincerity of his words and her lip curls up ever so slightly.

"Maybe not so _virtuous_."

She leans into him and he mirrors the action, focus narrowing on her plush lips.

"Erik…"

She reaches out, hands framing each of his cheeks. "Erik… please, let me see your face, please."

Immediately, he twists his head away, but doesn't pull back. He has kept the ugliest parts of himself from her but once she sees what's under the mask, she will never look at him the same.

"Please Erik, I need to know you, let me know you, _please_."

Her voice is a melody, so enticing, Erik understands how sailors are dashed upon the rocks for such a song.

"It won't change how I feel, I promise. I won't be frightened, I won't run, but I need to… what I feel for you… I can't give half my heart… it has to be all or nothing."

He sucks in a breath, unsure she intended the ultimatum but it swings over his head like a guillotine.

"Meg…" he wheezes, gripping her wrists for balance, "...what you are asking… it is Pandora's box... you will never be able to seal it back up..."

Meg is gentle with him, as angelic as he described her, but doesn't she realise it burns for a demon to look on Heaven's light?

"I don't ask this on a whim, Erik, it's not curiosity that drives me, I don't want to cause you pain but please trust me and remember in Pandora's box there was also hope."

Erik falls into her touch, sleeves dipping into the water so his arms can wrap around her. He doesn't care how the soap suds seep into his shirt, simply savouring the scent of raspberry and lavender along with the tickle of her hair.

"Not tonight, Meg… someday, I promise, but not tonight, _please_."

He feels it as she exhales, body moulding into his.

"Not tonight," she agrees and Erik sags with the relief.

Still, the blade sways above his head. Not tonight but soon. He remembers the Persian's words, the fear of losing her.

"Let's go out tonight."

Meg regards him, puzzled. "You mean in the limo?"

"No, to a proper restaurant, it's about time I took you somewhere nice."

Meg brightens and Erik feels pleasure and shame for not offering before now.

"That sounds wonderful, yes!"

"Perfect, I will need to change my clothes first."

Meg grins, fists closing around the front of his shirt. "Well if you're changing anyway…"

That's all the warning he gets before she hauls him into the bathtub, dunking him, head and shoulders.

He rises, spitting bubbles, to the sound of Meg's cackling.

" _Right_ ," the Phantom snarls, then he's tearing off his shirt and the rest of his clothes. "If that's how you want to play."

He sinks into the bathtub, over Meg's lithe frame, caging her in. Water laps over the sides and spills onto the tiled floor but neither notice.

Meg beams up at him, not the least bit intimated and the Phantom gnashes his teeth.

Much, much later they tumble from the tub, sated and wrinkled, fumbling for towels and trying not to slip in the puddles which cover the bathroom floor. Erik is laughing like he never has before Meg and he thinks he understands what she meant when she said she couldn't give half her heart.

Erik's heart is whole and full of Meg.

-oOo-

" _Fuck_ ,it's freezing."

Meg tugs her coat tight around her as she steps into the night air. Or perhaps _morning_ air is more appropriate. It's long past midnight though the sky is still dark, the city lights blocking out the stars.

Christine giggles and bumps into her, the two link arms and descend the steps together, stumbling from Cécile's birthday celebrations.

The night had been full of drinking, dancing, and staving off interrogation on Meg's part. Her friends are eager to know more about Meg's mystery man, especially as she is being uncharacteristically closed-lipped about the affair.

Meg has been seeing Erik for an amazing six months. Unfortunately, it's become impossible to hide. Christine sees her dressed up for dates and knows when she spends the weekend someplace else. She has been pressing Meg for details and recruited the others to help. So far Meg hasn't let anything slip but they are bound to wear her down eventually with their relentless questions.

(She supposes it's good practice in case anyone ever interrogates her on the Phantom for real).

The trouble is she can't exactly tell them she's dating a criminal / murderer! Obviously, she doesn't have to tell them that part but what happens when they insist on meeting Erik? They will think she's hiding something. She _is_ hiding something.

Christine is usually respectful of others' privacy - given how the press hound her for details on Raoul - but the singer must sense something is amiss or she wouldn't be pushing so hard. She normally confides in Christine and the fact that she's being so secretive must be a red flag. Meg can't blame her friend for worrying. But how can she reassure her when it means revealing her new boyfriend is the singer's ex-admirer and wanted by the police?

Yeah, that will go down well.

It doesn't help that Meg is also getting the third-degree from her mother. She sees her mother once a month and they chat on the phone weekly. The former ballerina knows of her daughter's new beau and is determined to meet him. Meg doesn't mention she already has - in fact, she works for him.

Meg is not sure which of them Antoinette will kill first.

The only peace she gets is with Erik. But despite his excellent distractions, her anxieties have started to creep into their time together. How long can she expect this to last? She likes Erik, really, _really_ likes Erik, but how serious is this thing between them? Is it worth all the complications? Meg thinks so, but does he?

Drunk after 2pm is never a good time to have a crisis. Meg pushes her worries to the back of her mind and climbs into the taxi alongside Christine. She rattles off the address automatically then notices the other man in the front passenger seat.

The doors lock. He turns a gun on them.

Her heart jolts so hard it lodges itself in her throat and for a second she is only aware of the gaping barrel of the gun and Christine's nails, biting into her palm.

"Hello ladies, let's take a ride."


	5. cinq

* * *

"The world was on fire

and no one could save me but you"

_**Wicked Game** _ **\- Chris Isaak**

* * *

The Persian grimaces as he nears the office, hearing the shouts from inside. He knocks and silence falls.

" _Enter_."

The Persian proceeds, securing the door behind him. The Phantom is the picture of composure, sat at his deck, not a hair out of place, fingers interlocked, chin resting on them. The same cannot be said for Antoinette Giry whose tightly wound braid is beginning to unravel.

" _Well_?" She snaps. "Do you have news?"

The Persian doesn't look away from the Phantom as he reports. "The kidnappers have contacted de Chagny. They are demanding a significant amount in exchange for his fiancée's safe return."

"And what about my daughter? What about Meg?"

"How much exactly?"

Compared to Antoinette's rising shrill pitch, the Phantom's voice is steady.

The Persian gives them the figure. It's steep but de Chagny can afford it, even without his family's support. Rumour has it Raoul's parents are displeased with his choice of bride (an orphaned singer with no connections). But the man is clearly besotted and has made it clear he is willing to pay anything to ensure Christine's safe return.

Then there is the matter of Meg.

"Raoul has insisted your daughter be included."

"I can pay," Antoinette assures.

He doesn't doubt it. The Phantom pays his employees well and even if she can't afford it, Erik will help, ulterior motives aside

"We have their location."

By _we_ the Persian doesn't mean the police force, with whom he supposedly works full-time. He is referring to his other job, serving the Phantom. It is difficult to play both sides, balancing what he should and shouldn't know, along with conflicting loyalties, but the Persian has been doing it for years. However, situations like this are particularly tricky to navigate.

The Persian knew from the Phantom's spies the moment Christine Daaé and Meg Giry were taken, but he had to wait for their disappearance to be reported to the police. By then, the Phantom's forces were already mobilised.

It is dangerous work but he is good at what he does and the Phantom trusts him. As much as the Phantom trusts anyone.

"Where?" Antoinette demands. The Phantom seems content to let her ask the questions.

The Persian gives the coordinates and a run down of the layout, numbers, and security. These aren't petty crooks but their operation is still small compared to the Phantom's might.

"The women have not been harmed?" The Phantom inquires.

"We were unable to discern their wellbeing but the deal stipulates they are unharmed. We can only assume so."

The Phantom hums, contemplative. Some might believe him unaffected but the Persian knows this perfect calm is as much a mask as the one covering the left of his face; a careful control hiding the fury within. This is the Phantom's battle armour.

"If you know where my daughter is why hasn't she been extracted?"

Antoinette is fierce but she is also a mother weighed down by grief, the Persian is gentle with his response.

"The situation is delicate. We risk the girls if something goes wrong. It may be safer to go ahead with the exchange."

"You're certain it is unconnected?"

The Persian knows what the Phantom is asking - _is Meg's capture his fault?_

"As far as we can ascertain, all communications have been addressed to de Chagny. There is nothing to suggest they know of Meg's connections."

It is another tangle of thorns in this hedge maze. Revealing her association to the Phantom through her mother (and otherwise) might help or hinder Meg. Her captors will not want to tempt the kingpin's wrath. Alternatively, they might torture her for information or simply cut their losses and put a bullet in her head.

And if they think she can be used against the Phantom…

"I haven't heard anything," Antoinette despairs. "What of the man Meg was seeing? I know there was someone. Have you looked into him?"

The Phantom and the Persian exchange looks.

"I doubt he was involved. The attack targeted Ms Daaé. Meg was unfortunate to be caught in the crossfire."

Very unfortunate. Meg and Christine are both under the Phantom's protection. No one should have been able to abduct them off the street. The Persian can tell it is a sore spot. There will be consequences.

"They struck while the girls were neither at home nor the theatre, the two places best watched," Antoinette mutters. "How did their kidnappers know they would be at the Jammes girl's place?"

"They could have friended any number of Christine's contacts on social media, including the Jammes girl, and planned from there."

Antoinette drops her head into her hands. "Oh Erik, what am I going to do?"

The Phantom stands, walking around his desk to place a hand on the woman's shoulder. Proof how much he cares for Antoinette and trusts the Persian, to allow him to witness this rare show of compassion.

"We will get her back."

"But in what condition," she sobs. "Their interest is in Christine, they only need to guarantee her safety to receive their money. Meg is sport to them."

This is true. Christine and Meg's safety depends on the honour of thieves and the Persian has seen too many cases like this one. He pities the young women, only in this position because of the men they love. For their sake, he wishes a quick and clean end to the horrid affair.

The Phantom's voice is low, with the promise of violence. "If they harm her I will eviscerate them and leave want remains to the crows."

This soothes Antoinette a little.

The Persian steps forward. "What are your orders, sir?"

The Phantom looks at him, eyes burning like the pits of Hell, and the Persian almost stumbles back.

"We strike tonight."

-oOo-

Meg is tied to a chair in a dank, decrepit warehouse, guarded by men in ski masks. She might snark about it being cliché if she weren't terrified. Not that she lets them see her fear. They would only taunt her more.

Christine is worse. Meg can feel her, tied to her own chair, back-to-back. They manage to wiggle their hands together, offering a small comfort. At least they are together, though Meg would prefer Christine to be safe.

She is not sure how much time has passed since they climbed into that cab. It has to have been more than 24 hours, possibly 48… but time is weird in this nightmare realm with no natural light, where the minutes stretch like hours. She's managed to sleep a little but not much (she never thought she would be able to sleep bound to the chair but necessity overpowers her). They sleep in shifts, the other only pretending while they listen out for information and their captor's approach.

Meg has heard enough to know Christine was their real target, in order to ransom Raoul. Meg is just a bonus.

There has been some debate what to do with her, whether she is worth keeping or if they should have their fun before dumping her in the river. Meg sat stiff, heart beating outside her chest, as she tried to take that fear and channel it into rage so when they came for her she would go down fighting. Mercifully, they let her be. From the sounds of it Raoul offered to pay for her too, god bless him.

She hasn't heard any mention of her mother or the Phantom and she is keeping her mouth shut. She won't be Erik's weakness.

She wonders if he's heard, what he's doing, if he's searching for her? She hopes so…

But what is she to him, really…? They don't use labels, they don't speak of _love_. He is the Phantom and she is just a ballerina trying to make something of herself.

Her mother at least will terrorise him until he agrees to help. Meg takes comfort in that.

God, she desperately wants to curl into her mother's arms. Her mother is strong and fierce and smart and Meg will be too. She doesn't struggle when they untie her in order to eat. When they leer and crack their jokes she bites her tongue and holds back all the foul names she wants to call them. She won't risk Christine.

Her friend's hand trembles in her own and Meg strokes a thumb along her palm. They will get through this.

Meg guesses it is late night judging by the changes in the guards. She has been tracking their movements. It is unlikely the two of them could pull off an escape but she feels better knowing and it is something to occupy her mind. Christine is getting a few hours of shut-eye before it's her turn to keep watch. From her breathing it doesn't sound as if the brunette has managed to fall asleep but they take what escape they can get.

She cranes her neck back and stares into the rafters, trying to keep her eyes open. When she sees the crescent moon she thinks she is dreaming, then the features sharpen and she _knows_ she is dreaming, taken back to a night long ago when she glanced up mid-performance and saw a masked face, right before Joseph Buquet fell.

The Phantom stares down at her.

Her eyes go wide, reality coming into focus. She blinks and pinches herself but he doesn't disappear. Her pulse jolts, adrenaline surging, pushing past the exhaustion. She only just manages to stop a squeal and avoid jerking her chair.

Erik is here. Erik is here!

She watches as he presses a gloved finger to his lips, then points to her and Christine, then to one of the doors leading from the warehouse. He repeats the gesture and Meg thinks she understands. She gives a slight nod and squeezes Christine's hand.

" _Christine,_ " she hisses, quietly so none of the guards will hear. " _Christine!_ "

Her friend jerks awake. "Wh-what is it?"

"Follow my lead."

"What, Meg, wait- "

Meg straightens and calls to the guards. "Excuse me! We need the bathroom."

"Fuck off."

Meg tries again, trying to look guileless, nausea rolling in her stomach. " _Please_ may we use the bathroom?"

"We're not taking you both at once."

"It's our periods, they've started."

Even through their masks she can see them blanch. Typical men.

"What, both of you?"

"When women live close together their periods often synchronise. If we don't do something we will bleed out through our clothes and onto the chair and floor."

The guards grimace, looking thoroughly disgusted, but one remains firm.

"We're not afraid of a little blood, sweetcheeks."

Meg bites back her disdain at the pet name and persists. "If nothing is done then we could suffer toxic shock from the bacteria."

Not exactly how it works but she doubts these thugs know that.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means we'd be dead and you can say goodbye to your ransom money."

The guards grumble among themselves, but they seem to be buying it. Christine doesn't say anything, though her hand trembles against Meg's.

At last, the one who seems to be in charge speaks up. "Argh, fine, Mike, Dave, take them to the shithole. Be quick about it."

Mike and Dave untie the women.

"There are tampons in my purse," Meg chirps as she is hauled from her chair.

The leader huffs. "Grab those too."

As they are herded towards the bathroom Meg glances again at the rafters. Erik is gone and she hopes she didn't imagine him.

The bathroom is small and grimy with only two cubicles. Mike guards the door while Dave waits with the captives, digging through Meg's purse. It takes a while for him to figure out what are the tampons but he eventually shoves them into Christine's hand.

"You first."

Christine casts Meg an uncertain glance then shuffles into the cubical. Meg counts the seconds and prays. Then the shouting begins, gunshots rattling the warehouse.

"WHAT THE- !"

Dave spins to the door. Meg seizes her opportunity, performing a perfect _arabesque_ into his crotch. He crumples with a groan. Meg snatches the top of his head and slams it into the porcelain sink. He goes limp, sprawling onto the floor, blood seeping from his forehead.

Meg stares at the body, panting, unsure if he is unconscious or if she's killed him.

"Meg!"

She swivels to Christine, her friend gaping at her.

"What's going on?"

Before she can respond the door bursts open.

"IT'S THE FUCKING PHANTOM!"

Mike stills, taking in Dave's prone form then Meg and Christine. Rage seizes his expression.

"BITCH!"

Meg pushes Christine into the cubicle behind her, wishing she grabbed Dave's gun when she had the chance.

"We warned de Chagny what'd happ'n if he tried anything. Guess your boyfriend doesn't value your safety as much as you thought.

He raises his gun. Meg shields her friend.

Her ears ring with the combined force of the gunshot and Christine's scream.

Mike curses, clutching his arm as blood spouts from the fresh wound, the gun slips from his fingers and he stumbles forward. He doesn't get far before a pair of gloved hands seize him and slam him against the wall. His body flops onto Dave's.

The Phantom steps into the room.

"Erik!"

Meg dives at him and he catches her in his arms. For the first time in days she feels safe.

"Meg! What are you _doing_? Do you know who that is!"

Meg and Erik pull apart at Christine's shrill exclamation. Her eyes dart between them, taking in the intimacy of their embrace.

"Wait a minute," her eyes narrow then grow to the size of saucers, "Is he- is he the guy you've been seeing?"

Meg fumbles for some sort of explanation. Her struggle is all the confirmation Christine needs.

"YOU'RE DATING THE PHANTOM!"

Meg winces, wondering if the whole warehouse heard. Erik's hand flexes on her waist, reassuring.

"Christine…"

"THE FUCKING PHANTOM!"

"Let me explain- " Meg reaches for her friend.

Hot, blinding pain tears through her.

Someone screams. Her legs fold from under her and she is falling...

Strong arms catch her, laying her to the ground.

Erik's half mask hovers above her. He is shouting. Christine is shouting.

She doesn't hear anything over the echo of a gunshot.

Meg looks down and sees a gush of scarlet sprouting from her dress. It's warm… it's ice…

Her vision swims… Erik… Christine… Erik… she can't focus… her head does pirouettes…

_"...hold on, Meg…"_

The voice is distant…

...darkness creeps in...

_"...hold on, my love…"_

Curtain falls. Fade to black.


	6. six

* * *

"You got me spinning like a ballerina,

You're the bad boy that I always dreamed of"

_**Queen of Disaster** _ **\- Lana Del Rey**

* * *

Meg pulls through. _Barely._

It is touch and go for a while, the bullet didn't pierce anything vital but she lost a lot of blood while they waited for the emergency services to arrive.

The Phantom remained until the last possible moment, pressing his jacket over the wound in an effort to stem the bleeding. When they heard the approaching sirens the visible half of his face twisted in anguish and he took one last look at Meg before fleeing, leaving her in Christine's care.

Christine has scrubbed her hands over and over but she can still feel Meg's blood, dried beneath her fingernails. Raoul comforts her as best he can, rubbing her back and whispering soothing words as she cries into his expensive shirt.

He holds her close like he is afraid any moment she could be snatched from him again. He tries to hide it, to avoid becoming overbearing, but she sees the effort it takes for him to let her go, how he doesn't seem to breathe right until she is back in sight.

For now, she is glad of his protectiveness, secure in his embrace. Without his strength she is sure she'd collapse. She is going to need a good therapist to deal with all this trauma. She doesn't like to remain seated for long, afraid ropes will snake out and bind her, and she absolutely refuses to get in another cab.

At least she wasn't shot.

According to the doctors, the bullet was just shy of causing permanent paralysis, and hearing that robs Christine of breath. Until then, Antoinette Giry managed to appear strong but the former dancer wails when she hears this. For all her strength it breaks her heart to imagine her daughter suffering the same fate as her.

When at last Meg wakes, Antoinette cradles her in her arms, choking back tears, as her daughter hurries to reassure her, and Christine and Raoul allow them their privacy.

For having almost died, Meg is surprisingly buoyant, laughing off her mother's concern and trading quips with Raoul. Christine doesn't believe the blonde as unaffected as she pretends but understands the charade. She wishes she could shake the shadows that coil over her and ignore how frail she feels, hollow and exposed.

It is hard to look at Meg in the hospital bed; easier now she is awake and smiling, but still painful. It reminds Christine of what they went through. She wants to curl into Meg and confess all her shame because she is the only one who knows, who understands. And yet, she wishes she didn't have the reminder. She could pretend it didn't happen if only Meg hadn't endured it too.

The last week doesn't seem real. It is something you hear about on the news, in a story, or a bad dream. It doesn't happen to _you_.

Now she can't sleep and when she wakes she wonders if she's still dreaming. If she ever really escaped.

"I'm moving in with Raoul," Christine blurts out and Meg halts in her speech.

"About time." Meg grins and it is genuine but Christine knows her friend too well not to see the sadness lurking behind.

"You could stay with us," Christine offers but they both know it is an empty gesture.

"Thanks but no, I'm not getting in-between you love birds."

Her eyes crinkle at the corners and Christine notices the dark rings underneath.

"Maybe I'll move back in with my mother, might stop her fussing."

Unlikely. Antoinette hasn't stopped fussing since Meg woke up and she has a right to threat. Her daughter was kidnapped and nearly died.

Is it wrong that Christine is a little envious? She wishes she still had parents to fuss over her. But she has Raoul and she wouldn't trade him for anything.

"What about _him_?"

Meg freezes, face distorting like a buffering video call. "Wha- what do you mean?"

Christine exhales. Until now she has been patient, waiting for Meg to regain her strength, but enough is enough. She sees how Meg's eyes light-up with each card and present, only to dim at the name. How she glances at the door with such hope and expectation. The shadows on her face deepen with every passing day and Christine knows who to blame.

"You know who I mean, _the Phantom_."

Meg's eyes dart to the closed door but they are alone.

"Christine…"

"You have to tell me, Meg, please. The police know it was him who rescued us, I had to tell them… tell the truth - not about _you_ ," she hurriedly adds, seeing the blonde's panicked expression, "...but that he was there… they think I'm the reason… because of his past infatuation…"

She looks pointedly at Meg, the woman she considers a sister, the woman she thought she knew so well.

"I lied to the police for you, Meg. You owe me the truth."

Meg sags into her pillow, drained of colour, and Christine remembers how weak and lifeless she seemed when they loaded her into the ambulance. Her heart clenches, tight with guilt, but Meg simply sighs.

"You're right…" she reaches out a hand and Christine takes it, "I should have told you long ago but I didn't… I didn't know how…"

Christine can hear the panicking bubbling beneath the words and squeezes her hand. "Meg… I promise, you won't lose me… whatever it is… I love you…"

Meg smiles, small and weak, but her shoulders set with a resolve Christine has always admired in her friend.

"I love you too… which is why I'm sorry…" she takes a deep breath and begins, "It started almost a year ago…"

-oOo-

The Phantom doesn't know how Christine Daaé came to be in his office without his knowledge but he suspects Antoinette.

"Ms Daaé, how unexpected," he drawls, concealing his discomfort. "To what do I owe the honour?"

She shuffles on her feet, eyes darting between him and the door he is now effectively blocking. With flight ruled out as an option it appears she goes to fight, sucking in a breath and squaring her shoulders.

"Meg has been out of hospital for three weeks."

The Phantom raises his eyebrows, very much aware of Meg's movements.

"Her mother must be relieved."

Christine stares at him expectantly but he refuses to indulge her, giving her a wide berth as he crosses to his desk.

"Please inform Antoinette I want a word with her on your way out." He pretends to look over some papers, angling himself so she only sees the masked side of his face.

"Why haven't you visited Meg?"

He pauses, surprised by her bluntness, and takes his time considering his response.

"There is no reason for me to."

Christine is quiet, her judgement all too loud. He grits his teeth and fights the urge to look at her.

"She really means nothing to you?" She speaks softly but the words are a punch to the gut.

"Nothing?" he rasps, " _Nothing?_ "

He whirls round and… freezes.

Christine does her best to appear unshaken, even as her lower lip wobbles, doe eyes wide. He scares her, he knows this, even without the tell-tale signs in her posture, the slight tremor in her hands. He scares most people and Christine is an innocent woman who recently experienced great trauma. Shame knots itself inside him, tangled in with a sudden sadness. He loved this woman once, look how she fears him now.

"You should go, Ms Daaé."

Christine looks conflicted, glancing at the door with longing then back to him. "No… not yet… no… I came here for Meg…"

Erik slumps against his desk and looks to the ceiling. Oh the irony…

"She told me about you and her."

His gaze flickers to hers. "Everything?"

"I don't need the details." Christine frowns and he thinks he detects a hint of an edge to her. It pleases him.

"Did she tell you how it began? How she bargained for you?"

Christine chews on her lip. "I don't think Meg gave anything she didn't want to give."

He cranes his neck, listening to how it cracks. "And you, Ms Daaé? What do you want?"

"For you to talk to her, please. Meg deserves better than this. She's waiting for you to visit, to call, something… it's been a month…"

He bows his head. "You're right… she does deserve better."

The words hang in the air, then…

"She loves you."

His throat bobs, focus fixed on his shoes.

"And I think… I _know_ … you love her too." She says it so delicately. The walls around his heart crumble to dust.

"I saw your face at the… at the warehouse… you looked at her with such warmth and then when she was shot… you were _terrified_ … I didn't think the Phantom could get scared…"

"Neither did I," he admits, "...until I met her."

He braces for the force of her judgement and lifts his gaze to meet hers. Christine is so lovely; he is even more conscious of his own wretchedness.

"She is better off without me, without the Phantom."

Christine hesitates then - because she is not a liar - nods. "You may be right."

He closes his eyes, his scar itches beneath the mask.

"But…"

His eyes snap open.

"...but I've seen Meg these past months, I knew there was someone making her smile, she was just so happy, happier than I've seen her with anyone else…"

Christine's fingers bounce across her thumb as she makes an effort to keep her gaze locked on his.

"Meg is my best friend, I love her so much and for some reason… for some reason she loves you… so talk to her. Don't end it like this. Talk to her."

Erik tries to summon words and finds he has none. All he can do is stare at the woman he once adored, heart full of another.

Her shoulders slump, resigned. "That's all I came to say. I'll take my leave now."

She makes for the door.

"Ms Daaé…"

She stiffens, glancing back.

He tries to channel as much sincerity into his voice. "I wish you and Mr de Chagny every happiness."

Her eyes bulge, trying to puzzle out whether or not he means it as a threat. He doesn't.

Finally, she offers up a small smile that lights her whole face and he remembers why he fell for her in the first place.

"Thank you," her voice is a swan song and she slips from the room.

Erik sinks into his chair, head in hands. What now?

-oOo-

The knock at her window has Meg scrambling for her baseball bat, fearing an intruder. When she sees the white mask emerge from the darkness and realises who it is the temptation to swing increases tenfold.

The Phantom stares at her through the glass, looking like a lover come to woo. He can easily pick the lock but he waits for an invitation like a vampire.

"We have a door, you know," she mutters, opening the window. If only because there are a few things she would like to say to him.

He drops inside with unnatural grace and she wonders how many windows he has climbed through in his career. When he straightens to his full height Meg is momentarily taken aback. She had forgotten how tall he is.

"I thought a door would be easier to slam in my face."

"If we weren't on the ground floor I might have pushed you out the window." She thrusts the end of her bat into his chest. "What are you doing here, Erik?"

He presents a bouquet of roses. "These are for you."

Meg sneers. "Did you mean these for my funeral? I only assume you thought me dead since you haven't contacted me in a month."

The Phantom, most feared man in the criminal underworld, winces. "Meg- "

"FUCK YOU!"

She spins on her heel, dropping her bat before she does something stupid like assault the Phantom, then whirls back to face him.

"Or was that the problem? Did I violate the terms of our agreement when I caught feelings?"

"No, Meg, let me explain- "

She doesn't want to hear it - _except she desperately does_ \- stomping to the kitchen in search of a vase, fleeing him and whatever he has to say.

Except he follows her, hovering at a respectful distance, all she has to do is reach out and…

She slams the cabinet shut with a growl, wrenching open the next. She hates him for showing up now after all these weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds. Hates him for disappearing in the first place.

She can't even look at him, can't bear to remember his face so close to hers, on a pillow, in her hands, his mouth warm against her own, and those dark, devouring eyes, alight with something… something more… _something like_...

But it was just her imagination; a month of silence brings fresh clarity. This thing between them has only ever been physical, an arrangement based on mutual lust and satisfaction, nothing more. Of course not. What would the Phantom want with a scrawny ballet rat?

To her shame, she feels hot tears well in her eyes and curses herself, blinking them back. She can't let him see her cry. Hasn't she been humiliated enough?

But of course he sees.

"Meg," he is beside her, reaching out a hand...

She smacks it away. "LEAVE ME ALONE!"

She glares through the tears, teeth clenched, and adds in a low voice, "You're so good at it."

The Phantom stiffens but doesn't leave. Instead, he regards her, his expression calculating. Infuriated, she lashes out, thumping her fist into his chest.

"I told you to leave!"

She swings again and he catches her hand, his grip like steel, just shy of being painful. Their eyes lock. Her breath stops. She remembers too late how dangerous he is.

The Phantom crowds her against the fridge, bracketing her in, his frame blocking out most of the light. His face is so close to hers, reminiscent of their first encounter.

"Enough."

His voice is low, thick. She tries not to react but still something inside her stirs.

"Meg…" he gasps her name like a drowning man gulps air. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Meg."

"You… _what_?"

The Phantom does not apologise.

She searches his face for any sort of trick but finds only raw honesty.

"I'm sorry, it was cruel of me to leave without a word. You did not deserve it."

"S-so why… why did you…" her tongue trips over the words, body shaking as she fights back sobs. "Why did you?"

His eyes dart to the side, throat bobbing.

"Erik…" she tries again with more force, "Why did you leave?"

He pushes himself off her, taking several paces back.

No, he can't run from her, not again.

"Erik!" She tries to snatch his sleeve but he spins out of reach.

"You almost died, Meg!"

She is momentarily thrown, then her temper flares. "I know, I have the scar to show for it."

He flinches, the right of his face going as pale as his mask. "That's not funny."

"I'm not laughing."

He shakes his head. "You don't understand."

"So enlighten me!"

"You almost died!" He stalks towards her.

She throws up her arms. "No shit!"

They meet in the middle of the kitchen, face inches apart.

"No, Meg," he grits out, hands landing on her shoulders, "You almost _died_ and I couldn't protect you."

_Oh._

Meg blinks, drinking in his stricken expression. Her anger evaporates and she feels oddly guilty for making him worry, for almost dying.

"But… but you… you saved me…"

He shakes his head again, absentmindedly pushing back the hair from her face. "No, I attempted a rescue and you were shot as a result. My actions almost cost you your life."

He strokes her cheek, wiping away the tears leaking from her eyes. She seizes his wrists, trailing her fingers along the skin, to his shirt cuff.

"But I'm okay, Erik, I'm here, I'm alive."

His gaze goes distant and in it she sees a vision of herself, limp and bleeding out.

"But what about next time?"

Her body goes tense, alarm bells ringing at the prospect of a next time. "Wh-what do you mean? There is no next time!"

It's over. It's _over_.

The Phantom does not fear, the Phantom is not fragile, and yet his expression has her aching.

"So long as you are with me there could always be a next time."

Her breaths come faster now, the air doesn't seem to be reaching her lungs.

"So… so we'll be careful," she declares, trying to stop her head from spinning.

His hands are back to her shoulders, pressing down. "We _were_ careful. You never should have been taken."

"That was because of Christine, not you."

"But it could have been. I have enemies, Meg, ones that make those idiots look like children. Our involvement endangers you and if I can't protect you while we're together then I shall do so by leaving you alone."

She goes rigid, ice clawing through her veins. Distantly she hears herself speak, "So you've chosen for me."

"I have to keep you safe."

His hands slide into hers, squeezing her fingers. Her eyes are beseeching, willing her to understand.

She does understand, but that doesn't mean she has to agree. "I get a choice, Erik. It's my life and I get to choose."

He sighs, looking so tired. She wonders if the past month has been as rough for him as it has been her.

"I'm not worth your life, Meg."

Invigorated, she bounces onto her tiptoes, raising herself so her eyes are level with his. "You are if I say you are."

He pulls from her grasp, putting distance between them. "And if I say I don't want this?"

She stalks towards him until her front brushes his. " _Liar_."

He heaves a heavy sigh and turns his back to her. "Then you should know the monster you choose."

She opens her mouth to respond when she sees his hand move to remove his mask and all words die on her tongue. She stands rooted to the spot, watching as the half mask is placed on the countertop. Then slowly he turns, revealing first his good side… and then the rest.

It is worse than she remembers. The left side of his face is horribly twisted and deformed.

She steps forward, raising her hand. Erik tenses, as if bracing for a blow.

Gently, she touches his cheek, tracing the scarred flesh. He freezes, eyes blown wide.

She continues the caress, the tension gradually bleeds from his shoulders as he leans into her palm.

"I love you, Erik. _All_ of you."

He goes rigid.

" _Meg_ …"

Then his lips crash into hers.

_I love you_ , _I love you_ , _I love you_ , his mouth seems to say, and yet her heart nearly stops when he pulls back and says the words aloud.

"I love you too."

A laugh bursts from her, eyes still damp from crying. She must look a state but that hardly matters now.

"Don't do that to me again. Don't cut me out like that, please."

"I promise," he kisses her again and again, "I promise, I promise, I love you, darling."

The kisses grow heated and finally Meg seizes him by the lapels and steers him to the bedroom.

In their haste they forget the flowers and the half mask sitting on the kitchen counter.

This is how Antoinette Giry learns the identity of her daughter's mystery man.

Only Meg's shrieks of protest and the Phantom's heartfelt professions of love as Antoinette holds him at gunpoint dissuades her from killing him.

She shoots him in the shoulder instead. It makes for an awkward Monday at the office and amuses the Persian to no end.

At least until Antoinette realises he knew and almost shoots him too.

-oOo-

Notorious crime boss, the Phantom is known to frequent the Opera Populaire. If rumours are to be believed, he has been bewitched by the opera's own nightingale, Christine de Chagny née Daaé. But those who whisper do not see how his eyes track a certain blonde ballerina or the sly smiles she directs to Box 5.

They do not know how they find each other after the show in a dark, forgotten corridor; whispering sweet promises and basking in divine, unruly love.

They will never know the Phantom's greatest weakness is also his greatest strength and her name is Meg Giry.


End file.
